Mother-daughter models

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Scott Nelson felt a tightening in his groin as he watched Brenda casually undress. When she pulled her sweater over her shoulders, her young tits bobbed freely on her chest. She'd been braless, and that in itself was exciting to the forty-eight-year-old man. Her tits were like ripe pears perched on her slender chest, firm and a luscious pink.

"Christ," Brenda sighed, "the way you're staring at me I feel like some damned strip queen! Pull those threads and let's fuck, Scotty."

Her remark brought an end to Scott's momentary paralysis and he began unbuttoning his shirt. He couldn't get over the way the younger generation accepted sex so matter-of-factly! And the language they employed! "Let's fuck," she'd said! And not over forty-five minutes ago they had been perfect strangers.

Scott had met Brenda in the laundromat located on the fringe of Highland Park near SMU in Dallas. Alone in the laundromat, they began chatting and soon left together to go to her place. A laundromat was the last place Scott Nelson had expected to pick up a piece of ass, but he'd been forced to give up hunting in the bars because he was down to his last few dollars.

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